


Home Again

by CarrotsandDragons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, bethany is fine, malcom is mentioned, she's noticing things about the circle is all, templars are jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrotsandDragons/pseuds/CarrotsandDragons
Summary: Bethany learns to navigate The Circle and learns something about her Father.





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic transferred over from tumblr

Her Father rarely spoke of his time in the Circle, hoping to protect her from the untold truths and pretty lies.

“That was a life I managed to escape,” He told her, and that was all he ever made clear.

But now, as she lived and breathed in the old Tevinter prison of his young adulthood, never to be at her Sister’s side, or even see her Mother again, Bethany wished she asked more questions, if only to prepare for the worst of it.

There was so much she wanted to know—but the thing that burned the most, what truly kept her up at night, was the manner in which he lived. How did he manage to survive?

She had a delicate relationship with the Templars; They feared and detested her magic, but respected and revered her family name. (Though all Bethany really knew about her bloodline was that her great-something Grandfather was a hero of the Fourth Blight and someone,  somewhere down the line, married the granddaughter of Asha Campana, famed Queen of Antiva, and former Princess of Rivain.)

When First Enchanter Orsino took down her papers and filed them under Amell, her Mother’s name, he hoped to spare her from the Templars’ overzealous greetings.

And though Bethany’s yet to be mistreated, the Templars would watch her wearily—accusation filling their combined, wolfish gaze. They’d be angry, as though her mere existence robbed them of something. But they wouldn’t touch her because Nobles were the main source of the Circles funding and if her Mother or Sister were to discover what they did, they’d rally their peers and take their coin away—that is if her sister didn’t first storm their gates.  And that, at least, made imitating her sister’s knife edge posture and steady pace a little easier, more natural, and much more real for Bethany.

She could do this, she told herself, she could survive! She could begin again—start a new life and never again be the nuisance or the shameful secret of her family.

Her sister, who’s given so much to protect her, would be free to live her own life.

Despite her newfound confidence, Bethany knew better than to test the Templars thinly veiled disdain; they may seem hesitant to hurt her, but there was no special title or noble mark that could stop them Templars from talking—and it was the whispers that made the magic inside her sweep and curl like an angry wave.

“-Nothing worse than an uppity mage.”

“-ought to put the girl in her place.”

They’d laugh and grin and clap one another on the back of the head when they believed the other to have said something clever or witty. And in those moments, Bethany wished she’d taken up the sword and gotten strong like her siblings so she could punch them—and it would hurt.

But, she long since learned to suppress her magic, and her feelings, when they threatened to reach and climb out from beneath her skin. Her Father taught her that, and no Templar would ever get the better of a Hawke—even if she wasn’t going by that name.

Instead, she’d merely bow her head and make herself scarce—refusing them the opportunity of believing they’ve won by keeping out of sight.

But her Father was a common man and she could think of nothing that may have shielded him from a Templar’s ire.

Anders, her sister’s friend (and she supposed hers as well,) hadn’t been lucky, and neither was the group of runaways they’d met on the Wounded Coast.

But Bethany, however, she had gotten lucky. Her sister returned from the Deep Roads with enough treasure to restore their family’s fortune and good name; her hard work enabled Bethany to lay low, to hide, but she’s seen the way others fared and at times it wasn’t pretty.

How could he have bared it?

* * *

It had taken Bethany weeks to learn her way through the dreary hallways: every one of them looked the same and it felt as though it were made for people to get themselves lost in. There were no special signs or marks to point the way, only gray stone walls and mahogany doorways.

There was, of course, one exception: The Library where she spent most of her time. It was marked by a statue of a woman chained to the wall, head in hands as though she were crying. Across from her stood another woman of a similar make, except her face was joyous, carved to mimic the wide toothed grin of a person laughing.

Inside,  books were stacked together on shelves so ornate it seemed as though they’d been carved by an artist whose hands received The Makers blessing. Each engraving was unique: leaves, autumn berries, boats wrapped in waves, and birds in trees; they were all so beautiful, the pictures could tempt even a Dwarf to dream. They were donated by the De Launcet’s, another Noble Family whose son, Emile, was born a mage. Bethany didn’t know him well but knew he loved to read.

The books themselves were quilts of stories: a vast array of subjects and novels from every corner of Thedas, neatly arranged and orderly aligned.

Best of all, the Templars hardly seemed to take interest in watching Enchanters or Apprentices sit alone and read.

Bethany went through every section: Art, History, Geography, Magic and so on,  but rarely did she find a book worth reading. Instead, she’d begin walking toward the Bookkeeper’s office, far off in the corner, and away from the gleaming lanterns yellow light.

Besides the office was a door, locked, and guarded by a man in a dark blue robe, freckled cheeks, and the sunburst symbol branded on his forehead, Gilot.

He wore the same placid smile as most of the Tranquil mages she’s seen and asked to see the proper papers that would allow her entry into the Rare Book Room.  

Just a few weeks prior, after Bethany first discovered the room, she’d gotten Senior Enchanter Albree to sign the Request Form Gilot gave her after helping to organize her office.

She was a kind, beautiful woman: plump, with a long nose, and dimples on her cheeks. She was around her Mother’s age; she’d been tasked with testing Bethany’s strengths and weaknesses even after her harrowing and sometimes looked at her as though she were seeing an old friend for the first time.

“Would it be alright if I were to visit the Rare Books room—In the Library?” She asked.

“Taken in interest in the more exotic texts have we?” She smiled and began searching for a quill to sign the papers. “Not many have cause to go there.”

“I hoped to find something to enhance my studies,” She lied. It was nothing more than a simple curiosity at first, but Bethany did like to read and would likely find something to study eventually.

“You remind me of someone I once knew. He truly was the best of us, always busy studying. He must have read every book in that room twice.” She laughed at the memory, a wide smile straining her cheeks through her eyes grew weary. Bethany wanted to ask what happened, why is he only someone she used to know? What became of him? Where is her friend? Though she knew much better than to ask—such stories never seemed to have happy endings. The most common death for a mage in the Circle was suicide, others chose to rid themselves of fear and feelings by way of the Rite of Tranquility; for others, the Rite was forced and others met their end at the end of a Templar’s knife. That was the life of a Mage in the Circle of Magi, a place where few could thrive.

But, as Bethany knew well, there was another way to survive the circle—to escape it. It didn’t happen often but her Father and few others managed to leave and live out their lives as Apostates, fugitive Mages. Though they’d be hunted and hated for the rest of their days, she couldn’t say she blamed them for choosing that life. Being free and frightened was better than constant misery.

“You seem to be gifted, just the same as he was.” Albree continued and began sliding her Quill down the page. “You’re…Ferelden, correct? Remind me, dear, what’s your family name?”

“Amell.” It felt odd to say aloud, but it was easier, and perhaps safer, than explaining her unique circumstance.

“Alright then, here you are.” Albree handed her the paper after signing her name and Bethany smiled, tucking it away in her pocket once the ink dried and kept it til the following morning.

Every day since, she’d arrive at the door,  show Gilot the form, and he’d unlock the bulky door.

The room was dimmer than the ones outside, and unlike the lanterns in the main library, the candles were encased in dull yellow glass, not clear. It took days for Bethany to realize Gilot must have lit them every morning despite the fact that few others came to this part of the Library.

“You must sign the slip that is placed on the inside cover,” Gilot would explain in his dull, monotone voice, “if the slip is full, please turn it to the other side and sign your name on the first line. If the back is full as well as the front, please bring the book to me and I will provide you with another slip to sign. When you are finished, leave the books upon the table so that I may inspect them.”

“Thank you.” She’d smile and nod politely.

“You are welcome. Please handle the books with care.”

Two cases of books lined the furthest walls and podiums dedicated to older manuscripts were erected in the space between them.

Most of the books were written in Trade,  and though the selection was smaller than that of the Main Library, there were enough readable texts that could keep Bethany entertained for more than a year.

One, in particular, caught her fancy as she looked through the stacks; it’s bright, colorful, binding stood out amongst the others and it was written in Rivaini.

Her father taught her enough of his mother Language for Bethany to read and converse quietly with her siblings, so when she picked it up, Bethany began to beam, an excited grin stretching across her face as she remembered sitting in a circle on the floor and listening to his stories.

Her eyes trailed the faded illustration that stretched out across the cover page that, for a moment, seemed as though it were alive with waves crashing against the harbor of a happy seaside village as gulls dove down into the water for fish. And she took the image in, Bethany was filled with a sense of longing, a deep yearning that would never truly go away.  

Never again would she see the outside.

Quickly, as not to linger on those feelings, Bethany reached for a quill and prepared to sign her name but soon found herself hesitating, frozen in place as she took in a sharp and steady breath.

Right there in strong, slanted, bold writing, several spaces above, was the name of her Father: Malcolm Hawke, repeated several times as though he read it frequently.

And though Bethany knew Rivaini wasn’t commonly spoken in lands so far south of the peninsula, she hadn’t expected to see his name after so much time. It had been about 26 years since he ran away—or something like that anyway (all Bethany knew for sure was that he escaped for good several months before her sister’s birth.)

With more vigor than originally intended, yet very carefully still, Bethany wrote her name: Bethany Amell and walked the book over to the desk she claimed and began to read.

It was the story of a girl: a brave and noble hero who fought for her home and her family, who, when faced with death, survived her own execution and escaped.

Mere days after her supposed demise, she returned to her home with a new name: Ofelia, and fought against the evils that threatened her friends and family, despite the fact she could never let them know she was alive.

Every chapter detailed a trial she faced on her journey to vanquish her foes and finally return home. ‘One day,’ She promised herself, she’d be there with them—she’d be home again.

It took her several days to finish reading, and while the happy ending was predictable, Bethany could understand why her Father would enjoy such a hopeful tale.

He must have read it tens, if not hundreds of times sitting alone in this little room.

She smiled sadly, her heart unable to contain its own breaking as she thought of her Father with this book at his desk, reminiscing about his friends and family, hoping that, like the heroine Ofelia, he’d find his way back home to them.

She held the old book to her chest and looked up at the ceiling and something inside her sparked like a candle, illuminating the darkest corners of her mind. Hundreds of questions manifested there but a few answers came as well.

He may not have been lucky, or maybe he was—but what mattered was the fact that he survived; he escaped, found love, and lived long enough to be happy with his family—a wife, two daughters, a son, and their dog, she herself the only other mage.

She brushed her fingers across the long dried ink of his name.

“One day,” She whispered to herself, sure that he, as a young man had once did the same, thinking back on the smooth rhythm of his voice.

One day, she said, still unsure if she could believe it but one day—she’d see her sister and her mother and even her uncle.

One day, she’d be home again.


End file.
